


Dragon Age Letters

by Super_Secret_Siha



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, Hinterlands (Dragon Age), Redcliffe, Val Royeaux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Secret_Siha/pseuds/Super_Secret_Siha
Summary: Letters people wrote to each other during the events of Inquisition.Lavellan is headcanon backstory.I'm really enjoying the letter writing thing for the moment. Epistolary is super fun!





	1. The Hinterlands: Crossroads

**To: Commander Cullen S. Rutherford, Inquisition**

**From: Ellana Fenghillan, First of Lavellan**

Commander,

We arrived in the Hinterlands late last night. Scout Harding informed us of the situation in the region, and we headed to the Crossroads at first light. Immediately on entering the village, we were beset by mages and Templars, who apparently forgot their war with one another and the innocent people of the Hinterlands, and attacked us instead. We dispatched them with only a few minor injuries on our side, but others will return in force if allowed.

When last we spoke, you expressed concern about my affiliation with the rebel mages in the Free Marches. I rudely dismissed you, muttering, well, you know what I muttered. My apology afterward was admittedly insincere and coerced, as I believe was your acceptance of said apology. We parted tensely.

Commander, that remark was out of order. Your concerns were legitimate and understandable. In the past, you and I would have been on opposite sides of most any conflict. At present, your former associates and mine are making a ~~shitshow~~ ~~clusterfuck~~ mess of this beautiful region. They care not who they attack, nor why they are attacking. It is as if their minds are gone, and all they can do is fight whoever stands in their field of vision. I am so sorry for saying what I said. You are not these people, not by a stretch. I hope I can prove to you that I am not, either.

Mother Giselle was pleasant, and has hatched a plan for the Inquisition to address some of the more open-minded Chantry Mothers in Val Royeaux. We’ll speak more of this plan in person, as I have serious reservations about it that I would like to discuss with you and the others. After talking to the Mother at length, it became clear that the Hinterlands need the Inquisition’s help desperately. Before we head to Redcliffe Farms to deal with the horse situation, I feel it is imperative that we offer some relief to the people of the Crossroads. They are starving, cold, injured, and exhausted. They have lost their homes, their family members, their livelihoods, all to this ludicrous war.

I’ve written to the Ambassador about fund allocation to this region. However, I understand that resources are tight at the moment and that we rely on the sympathies of nobility, a fickle thing on the best days. Tomorrow, the squad and I shall go hunting for meat and skins. I am not the greatest hunter, but these poor bastards need food and warm clothing, and no one else seems willing to help. Can the Inquisition send blankets, or healers? Can we do anything more? You seem a person who may give a damn. Please think of something. It’s overwhelming here, worse than I could have imagined. We have to help somehow, if this madness we’ve created is to mean anything, and my bleeding heart is not nearly enough.

On an unrelated note, Seeker Penteghast and Serah Tethras will not stop bickering. People will say they’re in love.

Sincerely,

Ellana Fenghillan, First of Lavellan

 

**To: Ellana Fenghillan, First of Lavellan, Herald of Andraste**

**From: Commander Cullen S. Rutherford, Inquisition**

Herald,

Apology accepted, sincerely this time. Tensions run high in these strange days. Perhaps I was not tactful in expressing my concerns about you. We are not so far removed from the past. Speak with Recruit Whittle in the Crossroads about blankets. He may have a lead that you’ll find useful. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do to move things along so you don’t have to do all the legwork.

Ask Cassandra about her reading habits. She won’t tell you, but the look on her face will be priceless.

-Commander Cullen S. Rutherford

**To: Commander Cullen**

**From: Varric Tethras**

Curly,

Well, the Hinterlands suck. Moonbeam decided to spend half the day with Chuckles looking for healing herbs, while the Seeker and I were on hunting duty. At least the girl knows how to delegate. Problem was I’ve never skinned a ram in my life. My delicate sensibilities won’t abide it.

Have you ever heard a sigh that defines exasperation? Poor Moonbeam. She spent the second half of the day making up for my inadequacies, bathing in ram viscera with the Seeker. Such is the story of my life. In my defense, Chuckles didn’t get his hands in ram guts either. If not for my gorgeous chest and his dreamy eyes, we might have felt a bit emasculated. As it was, we felt powerful, because look at those pretty girls doing the hard work for us. I told the ladies this, and Chuckles said nothing. He just smirked, like he does. Seeker made that noise she makes, and Moonbeam laughed at me. She then informed the gentlemen that lessons would begin tomorrow after breakfast. I may vomit. I’m not kidding.

You asked me to keep an eye on Moonbeam. Here’s something about her that I think you’ll be interested to know. She doesn’t fight like a mage. She fights like a maniac.

So, we’re walking into the Crossroads, and we stumble headlong into the mage-Templar bullshit. Moonbeam doesn’t understand why they’re attacking us. Chuckles says they don’t care who we are, and she starts to laugh. It’s small at first, just a little giggle. But then she gets knocked back a bit when a lightning bolt hits her barrier.

That’s when Moonbeam starts to full on guffaw.

They’re still hitting that barrier, and she’s stepping back, laughing. The Seeker is already in their faces, and Bianca’s shooting as quickly as possible. Chuckles is wielding his staff all smooth. But Moonbeam, she’s just taking it in for a minute, and something is real funny to her. I think she’s just looking at the absurdity.

Something snaps, and Moonbeam runs right into the fight, laughing. I mean, she’s bludgeoning people with her staff, electrocuting them right in the face, laughing. At one point, a Templar knocks her staff out of her hands. She loves this, evidently, because she gets this look like, “Now I can have real fun,” and she pushes the Templar with magic, just enough to make him stumble, and then reaches down for a dagger in her boot.

“You wanna go, Handsome?” she says.

He wants to go. He smites her. It takes a second. She’s stunned. He’s on her, but this isn’t her first tangle with a Templar. You can tell because just when he thinks he’s got her she takes a deep breath and dodges.

I think rogues and warriors must have trained her in combat techniques. In the Free Marches, apostate mages had to conceal themselves in cities, but they also had to protect themselves, because Kirkwall, for example, was a shithole. You remember. Her style is clearly a product of this situation.

So Moonbeam dodges with this roll, and she’s crouched down with her dagger in hand. She’s breathing hard, and I’m shooting this guy with explosive arrows to give her time to recover. There’s this mage on my flank trying to set me on fire. It’s working, but Moonbeam revives herself. First thing she does is dispel my flanker, which gives me time to fall back and lay bombs.

Chuckles barriers us again and Moonbeam is delighted. This girl is half dead. She’s bleeding. We’re all bleeding. She throws a Healing Mist and I guess prays to her pantheon. Or she’s cursing. My Elvhen is bad. Anyway she laughs and laughs and laughs as the enemy goes down.

I asked her about it after the fight, the laughing. She said it’s a focus thing. Said it helped tense the muscles in the right places and focus emotion. Also freaks out the opponent. I might try it sometime.

I’m not sure how we won the fight. Moonbeam gives the MVP to the Seeker. She’s probably right, but I know how Free Marches mages have to be, and I’m not going to pretend that’s not a factor. I think she’s a good person, man, but this whole thing is weird, and it’s cold out here.

Also, is there some way to improve the Seeker’s mood? Moonbeam flirts with her pretty hard but that only makes her soft towards Moonbeam. I brought this up, to which Her Worshipfulness made merry at my expense. I think she has the wrong idea.

-Varric Tethras

**To: Varric Tethras**

**From: Commander Cullen**

Varric,

Try reading some poetry. Maybe someone will notice your chest.

-Cullen

Post-Script: Please ask the Herald about her training.

**To: Leliana**

**From: Cassandra**

Leliana,

You were right about this girl. She is brash and difficult, but perhaps the Maker chose her just for those reasons. The people love her now as quickly as they hated her then. We are meant to go to Val Royeaux, to speak with some of the Mothers. The Herald is suspicious. I think it is a good idea. Even if it does not work, we cannot be seen to sever ties with the Chantry. They may reject us, but at least we can say we tried. If Varric does not stop being such a twat I shall behead him.

-Cassandra

**To: Cass**

**From Lel**

Sweetheart,

Of course I was right. Follow her lead. The Maker gave her to us. Desdemona in Redcliffe may have useful information. The Herald will like her very much as well. Get a room with Varric and stop complaining about him to me.

-Lovey


	2. The Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana's twin brother Mahanon gives the Herald a pep talk. The Nightingale enlists help.

**To: Mahanon Shielanas Lavellan**

**From: Ellana Fenghillan Lavellan**

Han,

Savhalla, isa’ma’lin! I am alive, for the moment. This is unlikely to last long, given recent events. Please make sure my wake is well-stocked with decent wine, and with gorgeous ladies rending their garments in grief. Hire the women if you have to. The loot in that stash outside Markham should cover the cost.

I’m now “employed” as a propagandist for the new Inquisition and their bizarre holy war. They call me the Herald of Andraste, if you can believe it. Half the shemlen have it in their heads that their priggish war goddess kicked my rabbit arse out of the Fade to save them from their own trespasses, and the other half thinks me a more despicable terrorist than Era’Harel. Laugh it up, honey. I certainly do.  

In equally hilarious news, Varric Fucking Tethras has joined this circus. He tells me the proto-Inquisition was interrogating him about his association with the Champion when the Void decided to spew its seed all over the world. Seems Tethras has chosen to stay and help, and he has become a welcome traveling companion. I’ve not yet informed him of your slavish devotion to his works, but I might be able to get you an autograph if you ask nicely.

Another item of possible importance: there is a bald hahren in my company who knows too much and says too little. He calls himself Solas, claims to have traveled extensively over Thedas, has had at least one unpleasant encounter with the Dalish, and is entirely too unassuming a presence to be anything but a plant. If anyone we know has met him, they will remember.

There’s more to tell, but I need to sleep sometime tonight.

Everything is so fucked.  I am thinking of running off to parts unknown before these bee punchers get us all murdered. How are you? How is everyone? Keep your pretty head down, brother, and tell our cousin from Denerim to do the same.

All My Love,

Ella

 

**To: Her Worship Ellana Fenghillan Lavellan, First in Our Hearts**

**From: Mahanon Shielanas Lavellan, Ne’er-Do-Well**

My Dearest Ella,

Of course it’s fucked! It was fucked the day you and I emerged from our mother’s cunt and said, “Hello, World! Pretty please, may we completely fuck you with our mere presence?”

We were ever so polite, even as newborn babes. That’s how we’ll get them, asa’ma’lin. Our flawless etiquette and winning smiles will always put us ahead. You and I should scurry far away from the expectations of our betters. Let’s travel to Rivain, like we used to talk about. From there, we’ll discover what’s beyond the continent. The liquors we’ll imbibe! The exotic men and women we’ll ravish! The people we’ll disappoint!

Alternatively, I can enjoy my promotion as the Keeper’s favored scoundrel a bit longer, while you save the world with Mythal’s mark. I know the shems are telling you it’s Andraste’s, but if any god marked you, it would be one of ours. No, wait. Not the All-Mother, but the Dread Wolf. You always liked him best, filthy heretic. Worst First ever, you are.

Tell me everything about Messere Tethras. EVERYTHING. Is he as handsome as his back-cover portraits indicate? How is he in a fight? How is he in a tavern? Has he the most wicked of tongues? You’ll have to seduce him, obviously. Bedding you may be the closest he’ll ever get to bedding me. It would be a crime to deny our homeland’s most famous author such a privilege. Also, yes, I would very much like an autograph, please. Most beautiful of pleases? So nicely, I’m asking, as you see.

I’ll dig around about your mysterious hahren, though you’ve given me little to go on. At this point, I’d normally tease you for your suspicious nature, but under the circumstances it makes sense.

Our cousin from Denerim took his leave without a word soon after you departed for the Conclave. We’ve heard nothing from him since. You have enough to worry about without fretting over him, so don’t. He’s a big boy and can take care of himself. The less we know, the better.

I can only assume you’ve written the Keeper. Leilani and Sylvas will expect letters from you at some point, as will Babae. You may send your apologies through me, if you’re too busy blessing peasants and making inspirational speeches. Or is it wading tits-deep in demon goo? I get so confused.

Don’t you dare die. I’d be very put out.

Your Adoring Brother,

Han

 

**To: Varric Tethras**

**From: Sister Nightingale**

Varric,

Against our expectations, the Herald seems to trust you. We thought Solas would grow closest to her, given their commonalities, but perhaps we should have anticipated her kinship with a fellow Marcher. This must put you in an uncomfortable position. It is also advantageous. Though you may not realize it, some of the people you protect, she protects as well.

You must become a bridge between us. I think you believe in her as we do. Am I wrong?

This woman is afraid. She is justified in her fear. No one in the Inquisition can understand this more than you can. Help her. Help us all.

Nightingale

 

**To: Sister Nightingale**

**From: Varric Tethras**

Spooky,

This must be uncomfortable for me? Really? That’s your pitch? Yeah, I believe in the Herald. I’ve seen what she can do, and I’ve seen that she’s a nervous halla ready to bolt. You people strong-armed her into this gig, and it’s freaking her out.

If this was a tale, and it will be, she’d be the reluctant hero. I’ve been doing what I can, but heroes never come out on top. Moonbeam is no doe-eyed ingénue, though she can play that to the hilt if need be. She knows exactly how this story ends.

Moonbeam wants to clean up this mess, and I think she knows she’s the only one who can do it, but she needs reassurances. I can’t give those to her. That part is on you.

Varric

 

**To: Mahanon Shielanas Lavellan**

**From: Ellana Fenghillan Lavellan**

Han,

Promotion? Did Uvun finally step down? It’s about bloody time. He was so slow with age that I thought our last operation together would end in spectacular failure. I’m not being disrespectful; the man is a master of subterfuge and deceit. The Dread Wolf himself would be impressed. We all age, and we all die, and the next generation rises to replace us. So it goes.

Fenedhis, he’s not dead, is he? I’d feel like such a dick. Congratulations, either way. You earned this, sweetheart. No one deserves it more.

Serah Tethras is quite the charmer, in and out of a tavern. They say never to meet your heroes, but I think you’d be pleased. In a fight, he is useful at long range. His crossbow in particular will be of great interest to you. It is of a design I’ve not observed before, with some sort of repeater mechanism that allows for quick and accurate firing. I’ve drawn up some rough schematics for upgrades based on what I’ve been able to see of it. Tethras is understandably protective of his weapon, but I believe if I show him some of Babae’s tricks, he’ll let me get my paws on it for at least a little bit.

That was not a weird double entendre, so stop right now with your smirking, pervert.

By the way, come down to Haven and seduce him yourself, if you’re so keen on dwarf cock. As handsome as he may be, bedding Tethras will do nothing to ensure my safety once the humans inevitably turn on me. How easily they shifted from, “Burn the savage!” to, “Save us, Your Worship!” I’m still recovering from the whiplash.

They do need my help, and I’m trying as best I can to earn their respect for the long-term. Frankly, there is little time for seduction, even surrounded with beautiful competence and strong jawlines. Demon goo stinks something fierce, and all but Tethras and the Ambassador are either cagey as fuck, or scary as Anbanal.

Speaking of scary, I almost forgot to inform you that the Commander of the Inquisition’s army was, I shit you not, Knight-Captain at the Gallows under Meredith. Tethras is friendly with him. Everyone here is friendly with him. He is more tolerant than I expected, and it’s possible I misjudged him in the beginning, but could this get any more ridiculous?  I’m dead, right? Or worse, branded.

Please tell Lani and Babae they’ll receive letters eventually. Tell Sylvas whatever he wants to hear. He never listens to anything else anyway.

Enclosed is that autograph you asked for so pleasantly. Keep it pressed to your heart as a memento of your idiot sister’s final blunder.

Love,

Ella

 

**To: Ella Bella**

**From: Han the Man**

Ella, My Darling,

Uvun stepped aside. He said you’d inspired him to take a long-needed vacation. Gave me the job right there, and I thought, my sister will never cut me so much slack. Thank you for refusing to let up on anyone, especially me.

I love you, but if you don’t stop with this morbid nonsense, I shall have to write your sexy Spymaster with actual information. She’s already reading all of this, as you know. I’ll answer her follow-up questions, with dirty details. Don’t think I won’t do it, for your own good.

I get it. You’re terrified. You’ve been wearing costumes for as long as you can remember, and now the leather is rubbing you in the wrong places. Shed the costume, then. Strip yourself bare in front of those who would dress you up, and dare the fools to look upon what they’ve gotten themselves into. Provoke them into loving you. It’s your natural talent. Save us, Your Fucking Worship. No one else is going to do it.

Rumors abound that your Commander has a proclivity for pretty mages. “Of course he does,” you’re undoubtedly thinking. “He’s a Templar.”

Have you forgotten how to bat your eyelashes, beloved? You’ve always had a way with dog-lords (and ladies, for that matter). They enjoy that coquettish blush on your cheeks when you are covered in the blood of your enemies.

Nothing yet on your hahren. I’ll keep digging, while you keep being your enchanting self. Surely an elder will be eager to share his wisdom with an enthusiastic and curious da’len.

You are my favorite person in the world. Thanks for the autograph! Once again, don’t you fucking die.

Ever Your Cheerleader,

Han

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savhalla, isa'ma'lin- Hello, brother  
> Era'Harel- Abomination  
> Hahren- Elder, teacher  
> Asa'ma'lin- Sister  
> Babae- Dad  
> Fenedhis- Literally "wolf cock," an Elvhen curse  
> Anbanal- Hell  
> Da'len- Student, literally "little one."


	3. A Bad Time in Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has no more time for Orlesians. Varric has an idea. An old friend makes contact.

**To: Ellana**

**From: Sam**

Ellana,

Remember that Wintersend night when we lay beneath the stars, drinking the fancy wine we’d looted from those slavers the day before? You were so excited to perform your favorite ritual. It began at twilight with the lighting of the bonfire, and culminated several hours later in a dance that would scandalize your current cohorts (though some would feign outrage to conceal their regular patronage of certain establishments, if you know what I mean). Everyone was involved, even if we didn’t know what to do. The dance at the end took us all.

A ritual to petition the Pantheon, you explained later as we drank that lovely wine, a complex and ancient prayer for love, fertility, protection, and prosperity amongst the People. Total bullshit, you said. A sexy song and dance, a lot of booze, and some spirit magic to harden the men’s cocks and wet the women’s cunts so they’d fuck each other silly and increase the population, that was the truth. The gods, if they existed, had no power to answer our prayers. We who lived in this world had to use whatever power we could muster to change it ourselves.

Ellana, you’re an obstinate, heretical, apostate bitch with poor impulse control and an insatiable desire to make mischief. We have this in common, so you’ll receive no judgment from me. For reasons that baffle the imagination, the system you’ve been subverting for half your life has handed you power. I can’t wait to see what the world looks like when you’re finished fucking with it.

Just be careful with these people. You know this, but I had to say it.

Please don’t be upset with me for leaving the clan. Everyone was kind (except Sylvas, who had his reasons), but it was past time to go. I’m relatively safe for now. Do not look for me. We’ll bump into each other somewhere, someday.

Leave your response where freedom made a promise.

I love you,

Sam

**To: Commander Cullen**

**From: Lavellan**

Commander,

Varric has agreed to report the second half of the day, as I am exhausted and cannot bear much more of this nonsense without a bath and some sleep. He has also advised me that formalities are unnecessary, so they are mostly foregone. Please forgive my bitter sarcasm. I’ll try to write this legibly.

Mother Giselle’s scheduled conference did not go as planned. No open-minded Mothers were present for us to address. Instead, Revered Mother Hevara publicly accused me of mass murder, and the Inquisition of heresy.

You, Sister Leliana, and I knew this was going to happen. I’m uncertain how the three of us were outvoted. Perhaps the “we have no choice” argument counts as two votes, and mine counts not a bit. At the next War Table meeting, we can say we told them so. Hooray for us.

As I’ve done from the beginning, I pointed out the ~~giant fucking hole in the sky~~ existential horror of the breach, and asked for help in closing it. Seeker Cassandra provided strong vocal support as promised. More on that below.

Enter Lord Seeker ~~Crazypants~~ Lucius with his cadre of Templars. Hevara ordered them to arrest me immediately. It seems the Lord Seeker had a different idea about how this wonderful morning would proceed. One of his Templars punched the Revered Mother in the back of her head, knocking her to the ground. Surprisingly, the big important assembly did not improve from there.

Crazypants (fuck it, that’s his name now) then made a rousing speech about the righteous authority of the Templar Order. Again, we asked for help in closing the breach. Contrary to all evidence, Crazypants claimed that he was the only one who could neutralize the threat. He then ~~took his toys and went home~~ declared Val Royeaux unworthy of Templar protection, and marched his troops out of the city. Creators know where to. I’d wager my vast, ill-gotten fortunes that it wasn’t to close the breach.

Hey, at least I wasn’t arrested, right? Sunshine behind the clouds.

During this debacle, there was one Templar who expressed doubts about the atrocious behavior of his fellows. Cassandra identified him as Ser Delrin Barris. If the Inquisition insists on enlisting Templar assistance after their monumental display of violent insanity, Ser Barris will be the least likely to punch us in our heads.

After the Lord Seeker’s tantrum, an emissary of First Enchanter Vivienne approached us with an invitation to speak with her at Ghislain Estate. A representative of the Friends of Red Jenny also contacted us. On our way out of Val Royeaux, Grand Enchanter Fiona herself stopped us with a proposal to meet in Redcliffe within the next few weeks for possible negotiations. As indicated, Varric will supply details on further events in his report.

Personal notes: If not for Cassandra, I’d never have made it through this morning. Stop arguing amongst yourselves and promote her to Inquisitor already. Also, I never got a chance to thank you for standing up to Roderick for me. I’ve been skittish about this experiment you are conducting, with good reason, but each of you has had my back at various times. We don’t always agree, but I believe you are all doing your best to make this bizarre situation work. Thank you for your efforts.

Sincerely,

Lavellan

**To: Herald Lavellan**

**From: Commander Cullen**

Herald,

There’s nothing to forgive. Your bitter sarcasm can be entertaining when not directed at me.

The situation with the Templars is deeply disturbing. Barris is a good man. I will attempt to discover the Templars’ location and persuade him to us before whatever is happening with them escalates further.

I know it’s difficult for you to believe, but we are here for you, Herald. I am always available to discuss anything you wish. Do you play chess?

This proposal from Fiona looks promising. We will talk about it when you return to Haven.

Commander Cullen

**To: Commander Cullen**

**From: Varric Tethras**

Curly,

Moonbeam and I are holed up in Ghislain Estate for the night. The poor woman is beside herself, so I agreed to tell you what happened after we left Val Royeaux. It’s clear she’s avoided speaking to Chantry folk most of her life. Probably for the best. Did you know she’s thirty summers old? Elves, man. They all look nineteen until they’re a thousand.

Our first stop was to meet the Red Jenny. We got to the place, and there was this Orlesian monologuing about how much time and money we must have spent to get to him. We were looking at each other like, “What’s this asshole on about?” when an arrow flew into his face and he fell over, dead.

None of us had eaten lunch yet, so we were about ready to tear someone apart with our teeth just to get some nourishment. Out walked the Jenny, who warned that reinforcements were on their way. This suited us fine. We were all pretty cranky.

The fight goes down; it’s nothing special. After we win, Moonbeam turns to the Jenny and gives her the eyebrow.

“Annnnnd you’re an elf,” says the Jenny, whose name is Sera, and who also is an elf.

“Wait, what?” says Moonbeam, clutching her chest. She turns to us, a look of shock in her eyes.  “An elf? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We thought it best that you figure it out on your own,” Chuckles, of all people, pipes up.

“Well,” Moonbeam says with a heavy sigh, “my entire sense of identity is shattered now, so thanks for that.”

“You were so set on being a Hurlock,” I say. “We didn’t have the heart.”

Moonbeam throws the back of her hand against her forehead. “I marched in the Darkspawn rights protest last weekend. I brought a sign!”

Because she is radically opposed to fun, the Seeker interjects and we get back down to business. Sera offers the Jennies as a resource and herself as a squaddie. After needling Sera a bit, Moonbeam accepts. Apparently she’s had some dealings with the Jennies up north, but I figure your file on her tells you all you need to know about that.

We then looted everything we could get our hands on and ate some lunch.

Over our delicious repast of bread, cheese, apples and Moonbeam’s “emergency booze,” we discussed Lady Vivienne’s invitation. Seeker wanted to plus one, but Moonbeam shut that down quick in favor of taking yours truly. Her logic was that the Seeker had outdone herself by preventing Moon from being executed that morning, and that I had more experience dealing with “ridiculous shem parties” than anyone in the Inquisition save Ruffles and Spooky.

No one could argue with that. The Lady Seeker is a princess, but I’m a bestselling author. Ridiculous shem parties are my forte. I swore to the Maker, and Moonbeam to “whatever you like” that we’d not run. The Seeker, bless her heart, decided to trust us. I’m still not sure the plan isn’t running.

On the way to Ghislain Estate, Moonbeam questioned me about what to expect.

“It’s a power play,” I told her. “Hopefully, we’ll find a drink and some snacks before the drama begins.”

Moonbeam furrowed her brow. Sometimes, when the light catches just right, you can see a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Surely you’ve noticed that already, and placed it carefully in your file.

“I’m wrong for this job, Varric,” she said. “I’m the last person who should attend this party.”

“Yeah, that’s why she invited you,” I replied. “But don’t worry. You have me to back you up. The Iron Lady won’t expect that.”

“We’ll show her,” said Moonbeam. “I’m going to weasel us a room in a fancy mansion tonight. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s kill a demon. If there’s two, it’s kill a demon and weasel a room.”

Needless to say, Moonbeam did weasel us a room. She’s in the bath right now, cursing up a storm in her mother tongue. My Elvhen is awful, but that tone of voice transcends language barriers.

So, we got to the estate and were immediately given drinks. Vivienne knows her shit. We were then led to the food.

“Take what you can,” murmured Moonbeam.

“You think you’re talking to a rookie?” I whispered back.

“I’m talking to an elder,” she said with a grin. “Now please stuff your pockets, old man.”

These two Orlesians notice her and pull her into conversation. They ask her about some rumours and she says they’re all true, which is exactly the right response. She’s been taking my counsel. Meanwhile, I hear some elven servants gossiping. They’re on board with the Herald. I don’t know if this is in your file, but the elves know her already, even in Orlais.

We haven’t been paying attention to the elves, is my takeaway here. That’s gonna bite us in the ass if we don’t course correct.

Moonbeam’s having fun messing with her new acquaintances when the pawn arrives. It’s like he was paid to make a scene.

“The Inquisition is a shitshow and you are Queen Shit,” says the puffed up man in a mask.

Moon’s like, “Yeah, okay, probably. And you are?”

This is when Madame de Fer descends to our level. She’s wearing horns and a slinky dress, and she freezes the dissenter in a block of ice.

“Creators,” Moonbeam exclaims with a laugh. “What an exciting party!”

She exchanges her empty glass for a full one from an elf with precise timing, and pops a frilly cake into her face. You probably think I’m exaggerating, and I am, but not much. She’s so completely out of her element, and aware of this, that her story almost writes itself.

So the Iron Lady is like, “How dare you insult my guest, frozen boy?”

And the frozen guy is all, “MHHHMFFMMMPH!”

Viv gives Moonbeam the decision of what to do with him. Now, Moon’s had a horrible day, to say the least. I can’t express how appalled she was at the display this morning. I’m assuming she expressed it to you in her way, so you can understand where our girl was at this moment.

“You’re asking me if you should kill him?” asks Her Worshipfulness.

“It’s your decision, darling,” says Madame de Fer. “You were the one insulted.”

Moonbeam, resisting a hard eye roll, takes a swig and clears her throat. “My lady,” she says, “if I murdered everyone who aggrieved me today, Val Royeaux would be a ghost town. I don’t have time for these theatrics. Let him go and let’s do business.”

De Fer makes a speech and releases the frozen guy. I don’t know what they talked about after that, but Vivienne is now an agent of the Inquisition. A few minutes ago, I asked the Herald why she accepted the First Enchanter’s offer. There’s no question that these two are ideologically opposed on everything important.

“She’s a powerful battle mage, and I promised to get us this room,” Moonbeam answered. “Do you know how to braid hair?”

I do know how to braid hair a little, so it looks like I have another job to do soon. Tell me something, Curly. What exactly do you have in that file? Can I read it? For research, of course.

While the ladies were talking privately, I poked around the estate. I liberated a few useful things, one of which is a nice bottle of whiskey for you. My friend, you need to loosen up. Find a hobby. Flirt with a pretty woman. Stop glowering all the time. Maybe the whiskey will help.

As I was about to wrap up this letter, an elf came to the door bearing booze and food.

“For the Herald,” he said. "From the staff." I’m telling you, the elves are an untapped resource. I’m going to talk to Moonbeam about it and see what she thinks.

Be ready. Things are about to get weirder.

Varric

 

**To: Varric Tethras**

**From: Commander Cullen**

Varric,

No, you may not read her file, because there is no file to read. I cannot give you a heavily redacted version of a file that doesn’t exist. Don’t bother asking me about it discreetly when you return, because I will have nothing for you.

I don’t glower all the time. Only a moment ago, my face bore a rather neutral expression.

Your point about the elves is noted.

Cullen

**To: Sam**

**From: Ellana**

Sam,

Why haven’t you fled the continent? They’ll ask about you now that you’ve made contact. Keep your fucking head down, please. You know I’ll always care about you. Do not break my heart again. Run as far away from me as you can.

Ellana

 

 

 


End file.
